Winter Rain
by fictionalheart
Summary: A series of one-shots on the life of the Bransons as they face a series of challenges in Dublin, beginning in January of 1920. Canon up until and including the Christmas Special.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV. _

_A/N: I'm reuploading this because I thoroughly reworked it with my beloved editor. I'm much happier with it now, and I hope you will be, as well! I've also decided to turn this in to a series of one-shots instead of leaving it on its own. It may have been a bad decision to make during exam season, but alas. I'm inspired to write more about Sybil and Branson, and I don't intend to leave this universe just yet. _

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><p>Sybil was startled awake by the rumble of thunder so strong, it caused her quaint Dublin row house to shake. The bedroom clock ticked restlessly against the pitter-patter of the rain, informing her that it was only ten in the morning. Her mind was already hazy, and the darkness seeping through the window only aggravated her confusion by suggesting a much later hour. 1920 had decided to make its appearance with a week of incessant rain. Sybil didn't mind; she'd always found storms to be oddly soothing. Yet, she couldn't help but shiver and burrow further into the armchair.<p>

She knew she ought to be at the hospital, working the early shift, but she was simply too exhausted to move. The morning had been a difficult one for her, and Tom had begged her to stay home. She hadn't wanted to listen. She'd been determined to work for as long as she could, but his distress had proven too much to ignore. Now, watching beads of water cascading along the windowpane, she was thankful that she had. Plodding through puddles on the mile-long walk to the hospital hardly would have helped to improve her condition. The last thing they needed was for her to develop a chill.

The past few weeks had been strenuous on the both of them. Sybil was already some four months in to her pregnancy, yet to find any reprieve from the illness of the first trimester. Lost to days gone by, their once blissful mornings were now the most dreaded time of day. They no longer drank their tea in bed, and the days of sitting idly by, exchanging crisp pages of the paper, had long since passed. Their new routine was one they cursed. Time and again, Sybil exchanged their warm covers for the chilly bathroom floor, while Tom bustled about, trying to prepare a meal that wouldn't send her retreating up the stairs.

That morning had been particularly gruelling. The usual nausea had been followed by bouts of vertigo so acute, Sybil had stumbled on her way back to bed. Had it not been for Tom supporting her, she would have surely fallen in to their bedside table. She had been mere millimetres from the porcelain lamp when he'd caught her.

Sybil had panicked in the aftermath, the memory of her mother's fall and subsequent miscarriage irrationally overwhelming her thoughts. Tom had scooped her in to his arms and tucked her back in to bed, before briskly climbing in beside her. Sybil remembered the bewildered look on his face as he'd wrapped her in his arms and attempted to assuage her tears. He'd never been confronted with a hysterical Sybil during their eight months of marriage; certainly not in the time before that. In fact, _Sybil_ didn't even remember the last time she'd cried with such intensity. Typically, she braved whatever came her way with determination, but morning after morning of unrelenting suffering had taken its toll. She was exhausted; she was scared, and she simply _needed_ the room to stop spinning.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Sybil was also starting to be homesick. She didn't miss Downton or the frivolous life she'd once lead. Those things were in the past, and she by no means longed to return to them. She was however beginning to miss her family far more than she'd anticipated. Mary and Edith had briefly come to Dublin for the wedding, but she hadn't seen any other members of her family since leaving home. Her only reprieve came from her correspondence with her mother. Their exchanges had become more frequent in the past months, and Sybil always hoped to find a letter addressed in her mother's elegant script.

Though she had yet to receive a response, Sybil had written her parents to tell them about her pregnancy. She knew she had no reason to worry – it had hadn't even been a fortnight since she'd sent the letter, but she couldn't help but do so all the same. She _needed_ them to welcome the news, wanting nothing more than for her father to soften his stance and allow her mother to visit her in Dublin. Independent though she was, she terribly needed her mother's support. Though not something that had openly been discussed in front of her, Sybil had overheard whispered allusions to the difficulty she'd caused her mother in the womb. She hadn't known what they'd meant by it at the time, but she now craved her empathy.

Twirling the delicate gold band around her finger, Sybil felt a pang of guilt in yearning for her mother when Tom had been nothing but wonderful to her. She smiled at the memory of the day she'd told him she that they were going to be parents. They'd both been overjoyed at the prospect, but Tom had been especially so, twirling her around as she'd laughed in delight. He'd spoken of nothing but their future child, conveying his hopes for a little girl with her mother's spunk, a little boy with their love of books. His happiness had only begun to subside in the last few weeks as he continued to witness his wife's suffering. He'd done and continued to do everything in his power to make things easier for her, but Sybil could see that it was beginning to get to him as well.

He tried to keep the change in his demeanour from her, but she'd begun to notice it a month or so earlier. Years of leisurely mornings continued to influence her sleeping pattern, so that even now, she was never the first to wake. Hardly a morning had elapsed since their marriage where she had not drifted to consciousness with the trails of kisses he left across her face, and waking in such a manner became one of her favourite moments of the day. So, she had been taken aback one morning, when she'd woken to find that her husband's adoring gaze had been replaced with one of great worry. He'd claimed that she'd been groaning in her sleep, but the wave of nausea that had struck had stopped her from questioning him further.

Sighing in frustration, Sybil closed her eyes and willed the pounding rain to coax her back to sleep.

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><p>Sybil was wandering through the flowery meadows of her childhood, a gurgling infant in her arms and Tom by her side, when the soft pressure of fingers running through her hair lured her to the equally familiar surroundings of her bedroom. She smiled as her eyes fluttered open to find her husband kneeling beside her, his expression shifting from worried to relieved as he met her eyes.<p>

"It's good to see you smiling," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Sybil revelled in the contact and beamed when he pulled away. "What are you doing home so early?" It was still storming and dark, but she knew she hadn't been asleep for more than an hour or two at most.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you glad to see me?"  
>"You know that I am," she chided. "I just thought you had the mandatory staff meeting today."<br>"I did. The meeting finished about an hour ago. I went to see Mr Doherty afterwards to update him on my progress on the Brennan article. He asked how you were – you know how much of a liking his wife took to you last month, and I admitted that you were indisposed. He was sympathetic, and since I'd finished all of the research for my article, he said I could write from home today."

"I'm glad." Sybil closed her eyes as Tom fondly played with her fingers before lacing their hands together.

"How are you feeling?" He inquired, his voice seeping with concern.

"I'm much better now. Thank you. The additional hours of sleep helped." Taking in the sceptical look he was giving her, she added, "I promise."

Tom nodded, sighing as he moved to sit beside her feet on the ottoman. Looking up, he smiled, but Sybil knew he was suppressing something.

Carefully leaning forward, dreading the vertigo that blessedly didn't come, she fondly caressed his cheek. "Tom…" she trailed off questioningly. Her chest tightened at the look of anguish that crossed his face. "What is it?"

"I was so scared, love. I've never…" He looked away, attempting to compose himself. "I know the doctor said that this was all normal, that some women just have a more difficult time, but I hate that you have to go through this." His voice lowered as he added, "I am so sorry."

Leaning a bit further, Sybil lightly brushed her lips over her husbands', bowing their foreheads together. "You have nothing for which to be sorry."

"I _do_."

"Honestly, Tom." Sybil sighed, frowning as her husband's stare only darkened. "I'm hardly the first woman to have a difficult pregnancy. It might be awful at the moment, but it'll be well worth it in a few months. We'll forget about all of this when we have our child in our arms."

Tom grinned briefly at the thought, but his expression quickly returned to its dispirited state. "I don't think I can ever forget seeing you like you were this morning. I've never seen you look so helpless, Sybil. I promised you that I would do everything in my power to make you happy, but I was powerless. You wanted me to make the room stop spinning; you were crying that it was all too much, and I couldn't _do_ anything for you. The only other time I'd been that scared was when you fell at the count in Ripon, all those years ago. I've never forgotten that day, the weight of you in my arms, the sight of your blood stained hair, and the fear of you never waking up." He paused, shutting his eyes to keep them from watering. "I _hate_ not being able to help you, not being able to make things easier for you."

Her own eyes burning, Sybil clambered on to his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to his hair as she felt his tears trickle down her neck. Time lost all meaning, allowing the tearful embrace to say the things they couldn't quite verbally phrase.

Sybil waited for his tears to lose momentum to finally pull away. Gently cupping Tom's face, she assured he was looking at her before she spoke. "You may not know it, and I'm _terribly_ sorry if you don't, but you do help me. " She glared as he attempted to object. "No, Tom. You do, so very, very much. I didn't even think it was possible for a husband to be as attentive as you are. Papa wasn't even this good with Mama before the war… "

Sybil trailed off as the fear from this morning burgeoned but quickly shook it away. "I've heard so many stories from Mary and Edith's friends of how some of their husbands would go to London until after the baby was born, not even wanting to see their wives when they were in a less than perfect state. Those men are the ones who ought to be apologising, not you. You're constantly by my side, and you do everything in your power to make sure that I'm – that _we're_ – happy. I refuse to have you think that you've failed me in any way when I can't imagine having a better husband." She smiled as his expression softened, adoration quickly replacing guilt. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, milady," Tom teased, his eyes sparkling.

"_Tom_." Sybil chuckled.

"Yes, love," he breathed before capturing her lips with his own. Sybil sighed contentedly in to the kiss, relieved that he'd put aside his stubborn streak and listened to her.

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><p>"Sybil?"<p>

"Hm?" Sybil looked up from her book. They had moved in to their sitting room, and she was lounging on the sofa by the fireplace, indulging in _North and South_ for the countless time. Tom was perched nearby at his desk, alternating between drafting his article and answering mail.

"There's a letter for you from Downton. I didn't notice it earlier; it must have gotten stuck between two of mine."

Sybil sat up and was about to make her way over to the desk when Tom was at her side and the letter was in her hands. "Easy, darling, I know you're feeling better, but you must take it easy."  
>"<em>Tom<em>, I'm pregnant, not invalid. You of all people…" she trailed off at his glare. She'd been so entranced by Margaret and Mr Thornton that she'd managed to banish the morning's events from her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she murmured sincerely as Tom kissed her on the forehead and returned to his desk.

The envelope was addressed in her mother's handwriting. Trembling, she broke the seal. Taking a deep breath, she began to read. _All was well with the family. They'd missed her terribly at Christmas and spoke of her constantly. Matthew was visiting_ – and oh! – _Mary had finally come to her senses and broken with Carlisle_. Finally, she reached the part she had been anticipating. The ties in her stomach slowly unknotted themselves as she scanned the lines expressing her mother's elation at becoming a grandmother, and she was filled with relief. Finishing, Sybil exhaled. It was far better than she'd dared to hope. Papa had even sent his love.

"Tom?"

He turned and delightedly took in his wife's beaming expression. "What is it?"

"Mama wants to visit! She says that Papa doesn't mind and that she'd like to stay with us for a few weeks - if we don't mind, of course – to help me prepare for the baby. Oh, Tom, I couldn't be happier. Would you mind terribly if she visits?"

If Tom looked uneasy at the prospect, Sybil couldn't tell. After all, even if her mother hadn't been able to attend their wedding, she had been the first to accept their marriage. Consequently, her letters were always the warmest ones from home, and she'd even begun to inquire after Tom of late. Thus, Sybil knew that her mother would be coming to Dublin to make things easier for her, not more difficult for her husband. Tom must have known it as well, for he quickly matched his wife's smile.

"Of course I don't mind! I know how much it would mean to you, and it would make me very happy as well. When would she like to come?"

Sybil beamed, making her way over to her husband before he could object and pulling him to his feet. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes gleaming, and leaned up to embrace him. In that moment, wrapped in her husband's arms, Sybil felt like the luckiest woman in the world. She was married to the only man she had ever loved - the only man she _could_ ever love. Above all, they were expecting their first child, and that child would be born in to a loving and accepting family. That was all that mattered. The wretched mornings; the fears; the separation from her family – none of it was permanent, and none of it would ultimately be as important as their happiness.

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><p><em><span>AN: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV._

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><p>The downpour of the last few weeks had yet to subside, and the day's storm was quickly developing in to one of the worst of the new year. A strong gust of wind pushed Sybil along, causing her to stumble. Grabbing on to an iron pick of the fence that lined their street, she righted herself and briskly turned the final corner, anxious to retreat in to the warmth of their quiet, Dublin row house.<p>

Many of the nurses had muttered about the weather as they'd left the confines of the hospital that afternoon. Sybil hadn't been one of them. If anything, she was thankful that the weather mirrored her mood and welcomed the long walk. Every icy drop winding its way past her umbrella had brought her refreshment from the day's stifling atmosphere, relief from her throbbing headache.

The sodden gravel slushed under her feet as she finally reached the stone steps leading to their home. Struggling to balance her umbrella as she fumbled with the key, Sybil was relieved when the heavy, green door gave way. The faint smell of what she could only hope was freshly baked cake wafted through the air, immediately filling her with the comfort she had craved. Quickly shedding her dripping cape and hat, Sybil followed the soft clanking to the back of the house, anxious to be wrapped in her husband's arms and forget about her day.

Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, Sybil took advantage of the fact that her presence had, as of yet, gone unnoticed and appreciatively watched as Tom busied himself at the stove. Sybil's cooking skills had improved since her early days in Mrs Patmore's kitchen, but she could still do little more than make tea, eggs, and cake. Tom, on the other hand, had learned to cook at a young age – Sybil had quickly realised that the Bransons revolved around their meals – and had taken over the task. He took great pleasure in cooking for his wife, and Sybil admittedly found the way he embraced their modern arrangement to be endlessly endearing.

Her heels clicked as she stepped over the threshold, giving away her presence. Tom started and turned to greet her, his eyes twinkling as she reached his side. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surprised. The storm is getting worse. I could barely hear my own thoughts during the walk."

Tom nodded and pulled her in to his arms. "I'm glad you're home."

"I am, too." Inhaling his familiar scent, Sybil closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, relishing the warmth and comfort of the contact. She'd always scoffed at the female heroines of Edith's yellow backed novels tritely claiming that an embrace from their beloved would relieve them of their woes, yet now, she conceded that they might have had a point. The stress that had presided over her for the past few hours began to dissipate, and the only things she wanted to consider were the patterns her husband's hands were tracing down her back. Not wanting to let go, she tightened her grip. Tom responded by pressing a lingering kiss to her hair.

"Are you alright, love?"

Sybil made a non-committal sound and turned her head, unwilling to break the contact more than absolutely necessary in order to answer, "I'm fine. It was simply one of those days that seemed like it was never going to come to an end."

"Did the baby give you trouble?"

She felt him tense at the thought. Her symptoms hadn't subsided in the past few weeks. The nausea persisted, and her bouts of vertigo had intensified.

"Not today." Sybil smiled as Tom trailed his hand over the slight protrusion of her stomach. "It all had to do with the hospital."

"Do you want to talk about it?"  
>Sybil nodded in to his chest before finally pulling away. She wasn't sure of where to begin. Maybe it would be easier if she started with the end. "The matron asked to see me this afternoon." Taking in his frown, she added, "I'm not going back after today."<p>

"Did something happen? I thought you'd decided to wait a few more weeks before you told them."

They both knew that the announcement would bring an end to her days at the hospital, at least until well after the baby was born. Things were changing for women, but it was still unfathomable for a pregnant nurse to be seen tending to patients.

Sybil gave an uncharacteristic snort. "You know Rose, the nurse I've mentioned who always seems to be cross with me?"

"The one who's been glaring at you for the last week or so?" Tom enquired, frowning.

"Yes, her. Well, I took a bit of a turn late in the afternoon - "

"I thought you said the baby didn't give you any trouble!"

"Tom, it was nothing. I just had to sit for a few minutes. I would have sent for you had it been _anything_ like what I had last week, " she promised, watching the fear fade from his eyes.

"Go on."

"Well, Rose kept pointing out how peculiar it was that I was still unwell. Apparently none of the other nurses who had been sick last week had any symptoms left, and it was _just the strangest thing _that I did. She kept repeating herself whenever the Matron was in the room, until I was finally called in to her office. The smirk Rose gave me when I walked past her was exactly like the ones Mary would give Edith after beating her in one of their silly bets. " Sybil exhaled heavily, gratefully accepting the cup of tea Tom had pressed in to her hands. "I don't know what she could possibly have against me. Other than my accent…"

Sybil watched as her husband cringed. They both knew that she was probably right. The tension between the Irish and the English had been steadily rising over the past few months, and any signs of sympathising with England, or even worse _being_ English, were unwelcome by many. Sybil knew she shouldn't have brought it up, but she was getting _so_ tired of being singled out for something that was beyond her control. She watched Tom switch the burner off before turning to face her. Despite his attempt to hide it, she was unable to miss the shadow that crept over his features, his eyes melancholy, yet tinged with anger.

"You know that doesn't matter, and even if that's the case, I don't see what she has to gain from being rude to you. That isn't the way to make a political statement." He paused at Sybil's bemused expression. "Yes, I can admit that now. There are far more effective – and _rational_ – ways to make a statement. What I don't understand is how she knew you weren't simply recovering from the flu, in the first place."

Sybil shrugged. She didn't understand it either. A wave of nurses had been hit with the flu in the past month, so any signs of illness had escaped suspicion – until today. The cut of her uniform further assured that her pregnancy wasn't noticeable to anyone who didn't already know of her condition. "I suppose it doesn't matter in any case. She knows, and the matron knows. That's all there is to it." She sighed and cradled her teacup, searching for reassurance in the depths of the dark liquid. "I just wish I could've worked for another month before having to go on leave."

"I know that's what we'd planned, but we have enough put aside that a month won't make a difference." Putting down the wooden spoon with which he'd been stirring their dinner, Tom turned to face her. "That isn't what's bothering you though, is it?"

"No…" Sybil stared in to her teacup, biting her lip as she trailed off. It was something that had crossed her mind, but she knew it wasn't an issue. She hated that she wasn't making this change on her own terms. "It bothers me that society still believes that pregnancy somehow disqualifies me from working, as if it _impedes_ my abilities and makes me forget how to be a nurse." She looked up and caught the adoring glint in his eyes. "One day, it'll be perfectly acceptable for expectant mothers to be seen in the workplace."

"If anyone can make that possible, it'll be you, love."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He leaned down and briefly captured her lips with his own.

Sybil grinned, forever thankful that she'd married the one person who embraced her views. "Only if you don't make it happen before I do," she teased, widening her eyes when he teased back seconds later.

"You're not content to be the wife of a mere journalist, then?"  
>"Of course I am! Though, I still believe this is just the beginning for you. I fully expect you to become the Irish prime minister one day," she elaborated, sincerity overpowering any teasing lilts in her voice.<p>

Tom chuckled, raising his brow. "That's quite the dream."

"I think it qualifies more as an ambition than a dream."

"I'd say we'll make quite the political couple in that case, but I think we already do that."  
>"Quite right, and I wouldn't have it any other way."<p>

"Nor I."

Leaning in to his side, Sybil felt the remaining hints of stress dissipate. She was home, and they were happy. Even if everything was bound to come rushing back in the morning, for the moment, it was enough.

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><p>Once the dishes had been cleared and the kitchen tidied, the couple had retreated to the sitting room. A book held firmly in Tom's hands, they were curled up on the forest green sofa. The fire crackled beside them, casting an orange glow on the pages as he read to her. His smooth Dublin accent, low and soothing, caressed her senses in a melodious contradiction to the drumming rain. Sybil closed her eyes, happy to savour the moment. Their blissful mornings a thing of the past, this had become their new routine, <em>their<em> time of day when everything else could be forgotten. It had inadvertently begun around the time Sybil's sickness had accrued. She'd had an especially arduous day and had insisted that all she wanted was to lie down and read her book. No sooner had she turned the first page that the novel had plummeted to the ground as she'd succumbed to sleep. Tom had simply carried her to bed, but the next evening, he abandoned his typewriter and joined Sybil by the fire, insisting that he would read to her.

Both were bashful at first. She'd bemusedly handed the novel over as he'd settled behind her. His arms wrapped around her, one holding the book and the other resting against her stomach, he'd begun to read. The words he spoke pervaded both of their minds, proving to be far more intimate than the embrace in which they found themselves.

The two always discussed whatever they read, no matter the topic or the form. It was how their friendship had first been formed, how it had developed over the years. It was simply a part of who they were. Yet, with the exception of an odd article here or there, they'd never read _to_ each other. In fact, Sybil didn't think anyone had _ever_ read to her since her early days in Downton's nursery. They'd both chuckled uneasily at first, but Tom's voice had grown more confident, coaxing Sybil to forget about the peculiarity of sharing the words that she was accustomed to keep to herself. She'd soon begun to enjoy the effects he gave to the text, his voice dripping in emotion as he gave new life to Dickens' familiar story.

Tonight though, her thoughts wandered as she listened. The evenings spent amongst the two of them would soon be amongst three. In a few short months, a cradle would take its place by the sofa, and they would be two to take comfort in Tom's voice. Sybil knew their reading materials wouldn't change much. Of course, they would read children's literature to their child – in fact, the only thing currently residing in their tiny, second bedroom was a small bookcase filled with their childhood favourites – but they wouldn't shelter him or her from their current preferences. Thus, it was easy for her to imagine what a similar night to this one might resemble a year from now… Tom stretched out on the carpet, sneaking glances at her as he turned each page; occasional gurgles mingling with the crackling fire, and a chubby, little arm waving as she gently rocked the cradle. It was simple, probably the simplest vision she had of the future, but it was currently the dearest.

Before she knew what was happening, tears were trickling down her cheeks, dampening the thin material of Tom's shirt.

"Sybil?" He quickly sat up, bringing her with him, and pressed his lips to her now-unruly hair. "Love, what it is?"

"I'm not…" Sybil shook her head, trying to convey that she was wasn't sad, but the tears intensified before she could finish speaking, and she didn't even know what she was feeling.

"Shh, everything's going to be alright. I know you aren't happy with the way things worked out today, but we'll find a solution."

"It's not that…" She trailed off as a puff of laughter mixed its way in to her tears, drawing a look of utter confusion from her husband. "I'm crying because I'm happy."

Amusement quickly made its way across his features. "You're crying _because you're happy_?"

She nodded as the tears slowed. "I was just thinking of you reading like this to the baby, and …"

He smirked. "And that made you cry?"

She bobbed her head again. "I have no idea why."

Tom took in her tear-stained face and began to laugh and handed her his handkerchief. "You crazy, crazy woman."

She batted at his chest. "Don't tease me."

"I meant that in the nicest way possible," he promised, chuckling and reclining against the pillows. "Ma said your emotions would start to change quickly, but I wasn't expecting _this_."

Taking in his adorably amused expression, Sybil had to admit the situation _was_ rather humorous. Not being able to control her emotions wasn't an appealing notion, but it was far better than unexpected bouts of vertigo. Succumbing to laughter, she shook her head at their state, thinking this was a much better end to the day than she could have expected several hours earlier.

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><p><em><em>AN: Thank you for your support and your patience in waiting for this second installment. Your reviews and messages are very much appreciated. I hope the chapter was satisfactory, and I'm looking forward to your reactions. You can expect the next update in a week or so. :) __


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV._

_A/N: Thank you, as always, to my dear friend and beta, without whom I probably would not be posting this, as well as to all of you who have reviewed, favourited, etc. _I hope you all enjoy the chapter and find it to have been worth the extended wait!__

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><p>The rusty, old clock Tom had placed on the kitchen counter ticked away, marking each minute in which he failed to appear. He'd called soon after luncheon, announcing that he would be home by four. Sybil had been thrilled at the prospect, anxious to spend time with her husband, especially before her mother's scheduled arrival for the next day.<p>

Ever since a scandal painting the British government in a less than positive light had been published earlier in the week, everyone at the newspaper had been working overtime. With Tom in charge of the leading story, he'd barely been home, leaving around the time Sybil begrudgingly held vigil on the bathroom floor and returning after she'd already changed in to her bedclothes. Their late evenings had been the only thing they'd been able to salvage, and even those had been cut short, as Tom had drifted off in the middle of several chapters.

In anticipation of having her husband to herself for the entire evening, Sybil had set about preparing the house for what she hoped would be a peaceful few hours at home. Satisfying her own cravings in the process, she'd spent a better part of the afternoon baking, and a perfectly formed carrot cake currently sat on the kitchen table, a testament to her efforts.

Four had come and gone, the cake had cooled and the tea long since fallen cold, and Tom was nowhere to be seen. Sybil repetitively told herself that nothing was wrong, that something had simply come up at work and needed to be resolved before he left. Breathing deeply, she'd willed herself to be calm and continued reading her book.

She'd remained deep in the melancholic world of _Anna Karenina_ until the cluck struck six, ringing in her repressed fears along with the hour. Tom wasn't one to forget, and he certainly wasn't one to be two hours late without somehow alerting her. Tensions were constantly mounting throughout the city, and the scandal had done nothing to quell them over the past week. If he wasn't home, then _something_ had to be wrong.

Slamming her book shut, she stood and began to pace around the kitchen, her heart racing with every scenario that ran through her mind. Her stomach lurched on her ninth turn about the room, reminding her that the stress was harmful to the baby, and she sat down with a sigh.

It was then that the soft thud of the front door broke through the eerie quiet of the house, making her jump to her feet once more. "Tom?" She held her breath, counting to ten.

When no answer came, she stepped in to the hallway. Tom was resting against the wall, his head bowed and breathing heavily. His coat was still buttoned, and droplets of water fell from his hair, alerting her to the fact that the light drizzle from her morning run to the market had yet to stop. Her heart pounded as she approached him, her frown deepening as she took in his dishevelled appearance, his undone necktie and crinkled collar peeking through his coat.

"Tom?"

Again, he failed to answer, though he looked up, his gaze deflated as his eyes met hers.

"Are you alright?" She stepped up to him and grasped his right hand, gasping as her fingers ran across his scraped knuckles.

"I'm fine," he croaked. "I just…" He closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. "Today was… Oh, sod it. Come here."

Her heart in her throat, she readily wrapped her arms around him. The raindrops clinging to his coat seeped through her blouse, staining the pale blue silk. She didn't know if she was shivering from cold or from fear, and she didn't much care. The only thing she registered was the desperation with which he clung to her, his face buried in her hair, while his pulse frantically hammered away. "Tom, what on earth is going on?"

"It's nothing… I –"

Sybil pulled back as far as she could in his tight embrace, grasping both sides of his face. "This isn't, _nothing_. You can_not_ come home more than two hours later than you promised, distraught and looking as if you've possibly been in a fight, and tell me that it's _nothing_."

"I know." He trembled as she pushed a strand of his damp hair behind his ear. "I don't want to upset you."

Sybil raised her brow as disbelief crawled over her every feature. "You've already upset me, and you'll only make it worse by not telling me. We're supposed to face everything together, and the only way for us to do so is for you to tell me what's causing you such anguish, no matter how serious it may be."

Tom nodded brusquely. "You're right. Do you mind if we at least sit down for this?"

"Of course not. I have tea ready, though I'm afraid it's no longer hot."

He forced a smile and shrugged off his coat, pinning it on the wooden coatrack by the door. "After the day I've had, I think I need whiskey."

Sybil nodded and accepted his out held hand with a small smile, hoping to hide the level of alarm coursing through her veins. He gripped her hand tightly as he led her down the short hallway and into their sitting room, momentarily reassuring her that, no matter what had happened, he was there and he was safe.

"No, sit. I'll get it." She insisted, running her fingers through his hair as she left his side to pour him a drink from the small cabinet in the corner by the window.

Moments later, she pressed the cool glass into his hands and settled by his side, wincing as he downed it within seconds. "Is it truly that bad?"

He gave a curt nod, focusing on a spot of the slightly faded rug that covered their floor. "Three officers came to the newspaper today –"

"The police?"

"No. British intelligence. They were looking for Kiernan –"

Her eyes widened, "Bobbie?"

"Yes. They demanded to see him. He'd only just gotten in and was briefing me on his research. Apparently, he'd snuck in to their investigative headquarters. I never would have allowed him to do so had he asked me, beforehand. He was scared that he'd been spotted as he'd left, and sure enough… He got a bit cheeky with the officers. They socked him a couple of times before dragging him away. There wasn't anything I could do; one of the bastards had me pinned to the wall, threatened to shoot if I tried anything."

"Oh, Tom…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She brushed his cheek, praying that the light touch would finally get him to face her. When it didn't, she understood that he needed to distance himself to find the strength to go on with his story. Moving her hand to his back, she silently encouraged him to continue.

"As they left, they kept yelling, warning everyone to let this be an example to us all. They called him names, claiming he had deserved what was coming to him for butting in where he wasn't wanted. " He hesitated, his voice cracking as he continued. "I went to see Jane on my way home. She hadn't heard. It was awful, Sybil. She didn't even have time to react. Ronnie came running in seconds after I told her. He latched on to my leg as he always does, and asked if his pa was home, too. Jane tried to keep it together for his sake, but you could see the way it broke her."

Sybil's mind was still reeling. "They'll release him, surely?" She focused on her hand running down Tom's quivering back, the action keeping her from breaking along with her husband. The Kiernans were friends of them both, but Tom and Bobbie had known each other for years, their friendship dating back to their school days. As much as this news hurt her deeply, she knew it was devastating for him.

"Oh, love." He met her glance then and she saw the fear mingling with the tears in his eyes. "They'll imprison him for years, at least. Ronnie'll be in school by the time they let him out. That is, if they don't –"

"They _wouldn't_."

"They've shot men for less."

"You mustn't think that."

"I can't help it. They'll consider him a traitor for trespassing on to government property and trying to steal their files. I don't know how he could have been so _stupid_. We had enough legal information to make our case in the paper. He didn't _need_ to go so far."

Her mind reeled, worst-case scenarios dancing their way through her thoughts. "Tom… You said Bobbie was with you when they came to get him. You're not – " She stopped to draw a deep, quivering breath. "They can't claim that you were _involved_ in whatever he did?"

"Not directly, no."

_Not_ _directly_. Sybil clasped her hands together, willing herself to keep her composure. "But they could make a case to say that you are?"

"Sybil…"

"Tom, I _need_ to know. If you're in danger, if we're in any danger _whatsoever_, you need to tell me."

"There won't be any danger if I don't publish the article."

"Not even with the information you already had?"

"It would be risky. Even if it's legal, they'll claim we got everything from their headquarters, that we started the scandal."

"Are you going to?"

"Of course not, Sybil. _No_!"

She nodded, turning to him. "Even if it puts your journalistic integrity at risk?"

"Even then. I think they should be exposed, that they deserve the fallout from this scandal. I believe in the cause, and nothing will change _that_, but freedom for Ireland is a distant second to me now. It has been for a very long time. I won't throw my life away and leave you alone, and I certainly won't risk _your_ safety for the sake of an article."

She let out the breath she'd been holding. "I can't pretend not to be relieved." She kept her gaze on her hands, not wanting him to think that _she_ wanted him to compromise his beliefs.

"Love, did you really think I would take a risk like that?"

"There was a time when you would have, yes. Don't you remember the General?"

Tom let out an uneasy laugh. "I'd say circumstances have changed drastically since then. If I remember correctly, you were having trouble staying in the same room as me, at that time. I thought I only had myself to answer for…" He squeezed her hand, drawing a teary grin. "I won't let what happened to Bobbie and Jane happen to us."

Sybil sniffed, leaning in to his side. "I feel awful for them. We should ask Jane to stay with us for a few days."

"I already asked her. She insisted on staying home. She thought it would be better for Ronnie. He's too young to understand, and she doesn't want to upset him before we know more about Bobbie's fate."

"I can't say I would act any differently, in her position. We'll at least go and visit her tomorrow."

Tom nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair and tightening his grip around her shoulders. "You have no idea how happy I am be home. All I could think of while they were holding me back was you. I was terrified of not being able to come home to you, of not being able to hold you, of never being able to hold the baby."

Sybil trembled at his words, thankful that he hadn't kept his fears to himself yet overwhelmed by his confession. The mere thought of his being taken from her wasn't something she had allowed herself to consider, at least not since he had been refused by the army all those years ago. That such a horror had, unbeknownst to her, been an actual possibility earlier in the day snatched away the last of her barriers. She succumbed to her tears, sobs wracking her body within seconds.

Tears spilling down his own cheeks, Tom turned her in his arms, gathering her legs in his lap, and gently rocked her until she quieted down. They remained in silence, ignorant of the passing of time, her head resting against his shoulder as he drew soothing circles on her arm. Sybil eventually dozed off, the front of her husband's crumpled shirt clutched in her hands. Her soft, even breaths mingled with the tentative pops of the dwindling fire and coaxed Tom's pulse to return to its normal pace. Just as he felt as if their world was falling back in to place, the deep gong of the doorbell echoed mockingly in his ears.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV._

_A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. Real life has been hectic of late, to say the least. Thank you for sticking with me!_

* * *

><p>His heart pounding, Tom shifted Sybil to the corner of the sofa, grateful that she had done no more than stir at the clang of the bell. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he prayed it wouldn't be the last and strode across the room. He would not be able to see the doorstep, but the street was clearly visible from the window. Pulling back a corner of the heavy, green drapes, he peaked out, exhaling a sigh of relief through gritted teeth. A motor was stationed in front of their house, but it was a smaller, private automobile and not likely one to be used by the authorities.<p>

Willing his pulse to slacken, he backed away from the window, stopping only to assure himself that Sybil was still asleep. She had curled in to the corner of the sofa, her hands resting beneath her tear stained cheeks, and was again oblivious to the rest of the world. He took comfort in the fact, not wanting her to be subjected to any additional stress, and stepped out of the room. Running his hands through his dishevelled hair and straightening his crumpled waistcoat, he took a deep breath and clutched the handle between trembling fingers, and opened the door.

Met with the sight of an impeccably tailored and ornate traveling outfit and the extravagant sent of orchids, Tom straightened, suddenly mindful of his unkempt appearance. "Lady Grantham!"

"Tom." Cora clasped his hand. "I do hope I'm not arriving at a bad time."

"Not at all. Please come in." He stepped aside to let her through, before swiftly locking and chaining the door behind her.

"I hope you had a pleasant journey."

"I did, thank you. The weather was far milder than anticipated. I was able to catch an earlier ferry and didn't see the point in waiting. It seems my impatience got the better of me."

Tom smiled, not knowing what to say, opting instead to relieve the visitor of her coat. Thankfully, he didn't need much time to consider his words as Sybil stepped in to the hallway.

"Darling! There are you!"

"Mama?" Sybil groggily passed a hand over her eyes, visibly confused by Cora's unexpected appearance.

Tom watched as Cora turned toward her daughter, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and wondered at the scene that played out in front of him. Never in the six years he spent at Downton had he seen the Countess – or any member of the Crawley family, for that matter – act so openly, so lovingly toward one of her daughters. The reserved exchanges he'd witnessed in the car, in hallways had made it difficult for him to imagine the stories Sybil told of her loving parents, but he knew he would no longer have any trouble doing so.

Sybil had barely finished speaking when Cora flew down the hallway, tightly wrapping her arms around her daughter.

"Oh, my darling! I missed you so." Pulling back, she grasped Sybil's hands. "Let me have a proper look at you." A watery smile alighted her face, as she looked her daughter over, her gaze briefly settling on the soft swell of Sybil's stomach. Visibly struggling with her words, she pulled Sybil to her once again, holding her tightly.

Tom was taken aback to see pride in Cora's gaze as she met his eyes over Sybil's shoulder. He gave a small nod, hoping to convene just how grateful, how _relieved_ he was that she'd greeted Sybil with such genuine joy.

Not wanting to interrupt their reunion, he took a step forward. "Why don't you two get settled, and I'll bring you some tea? You must be chilled from your journey."

Yet as he moved toward the kitchen, Cora stopped him with a light hand on his arm. Her fingers curled around his forearm, tightening ever so slightly. Tom wondered at first if he had hit his head when the British officer had slammed him against the wall and was now hallucinating. Then, Cora's gaze met his, offering him a serene smile filled with gratitude and, surprisingly, reassurance.

Suddenly, the woman standing before him was no longer his former employer but his mother-in-law, and his lingering reservations regarding her visit were nearly forgotten. They may once have belonged to completely different worlds, yet all he could consider was that they were now bound together, due to the two most important people in his life.

* * *

><p>Standing in the doorway, Sybil marvelled at the brief exchange between her mother and husband. She knew Tom had promised to meet her family with open arms, just as she knew her mother had been increasingly supportive of her marriage. She'd spent much of her time in the last week imagining having the two of them in the same place, interacting as equals, and had wondered what it would feel like. Nothing she had pictured lived up to its reality.<p>

Turning back to her mother, she gestured towards the sitting room. "Shall we?"

"With pleasure." Cora smiled taking her arm.

"I'm afraid it's quite different than what you're used to." Sybil wasn't truly afraid. In fact, she took great pride in her home. She and Tom had picked most of their furniture together, but Tom had quickly proved to lack the necessary knowledge and patience. Thus, furnishing the house had become Sybil's great project. She had spent many hours excitedly decorating their different rooms on her own, only calling for an opinion now and then. It had proved to be great fun, and having her house's looks contingent on _her_ wishes and not on those of her ancestors continued to be extremely gratifying.

"Don't be silly, darling. This is lovely. It's exactly as I would have imagined."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, the pale blue walls, the touches of green, the photographs, the cheerful and welcoming feel... everything about the room is of your taste." Cora took a turn about the room as she spoke, pausing in front of the wall opposite the window. It was covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. "This is an admirable collection."

"Tom's been collecting books for years," Sybil explained, her voice oozing with pride. "Everyone knows not to give him anything else for his birthday or Christmas."

Cora smiled. "I shall make a note of it. In fact, I'll ask your grandmother to bring some newer volumes with her from America."

"That would be lovely. Thank you." Sybil beamed, delighted that her mother not only appreciated her decorating, but was continuing to show interest in Tom.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear we have such a voracious reader in the family, again."

"You mustn't allow Papa to hear you say that. We all know how much he loves his library."

"Of course." They shared a conspiring look. "I'm assuming Tom loves this room just as much."

"He does. There's a smaller room next door that I thought he would have wanted to use as his office, but he insisted on putting his desk in here. He spends most of his time at home in this room. We both do."

"Well, I can certainly see why."

"Why don't we sit? You must be exhausted." Sybil gestured toward the seating area, suppressing a sigh of relief when Cora perched on an armchair. Waves of fatigue had begun to wash over her, and she desperately wanted to sink back in to the sofa.

Doing so, she closed her eyes for a brief second, relishing the softness of the pillows. The relief was, however, short lived. The very second she opened her eyes, her gaze alighted on the empty tumbler Tom had left on the small table beside her. Every detail she had repressed in her sleep rushed back to her, one fighting the other for her full attention. Her mother's voice was the one to win, pulling her back to reality.

"Sybil, dear, is anything the matter?"

This was hardly something she wanted to discuss minutes after her mother's arrival. "What ever do you mean?" Sybil attempted to put a smile back on her face, but it came out looking far more forced than she would have liked.

"You look troubled, and I couldn't help but notice that you look as if you have been crying, and Tom looked quite shaken when he answered the door."

Sybil looked down at her clasped hands, wondering how best to explain the earlier events of the evening. The last thing she wanted was for her to decide that Dublin was as dangerous as the British newspapers surely claimed and to return to England in the morning. It wouldn't matter that such events were rare, despite the mounting tensions, and that Dublin was, for the most part, perfectly safe.

"We had some bad news before you arrived."

"Oh?"

"A dear friend of Tom's – of us both, really – was… hurt, earlier today." She swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. "We don't yet know if he's going to live. "

"How terrible. " Cora hesitated, true concern creeping over her features. "How are you dealing with it?"

"Tom's very broken up about it. He and Bobbie have known each other since they were boys. He was afraid of hearing more bad news when he went to answer the door."

Cora nodded, "I'm so sorry. It seems as if I've arrived at rather a bad time."

"No, Mama. Your arrival has cheered me up to no end, and I'm sure it'll prove to be a good distraction for Tom, as well."

"I do hope you're right. How do _you_ feel about… Bobbie, did you say?"

"Yes. I'm frightened… Not only for him, but also for his wife, Jane; she's been a wonderful friend to me over the past few months. They have a young son, Ronnie. He's only three years old." Sybil took a deep breath before observing her mother's expression. Before she said anything more, she needed to know if she was genuinely listening, or whether she was merely asking because it was polite to do so. Her furrowed brow and her darkened eyes suggested that she was truly concerned. "It also terrifies me that something like this could happen to someone so young. I know it oughtn't shock me after the war, after we lost so _many_ of our friends and acquaintances, but it does."

"If anything, it's all the more shocking _after_ the war."

Sybil nodded, looking down. "I'm afraid this will sound terribly self-centred, but it frightens me that something like this could happen to Tom. He never puts himself in danger, so I oughtn't fixate on it, but the mere thought of losing him is enough to make me ill," she explained, her voice turning in to a hoarse whisper. "I couldn't bear it, not after everything."

"Oh, my darling…" Sybil looked up to meet her mother's gaze. "Worrying about your husband is the most natural thing in the world. I cannot tell you the number of times I've had similar fears for your father, no matter how unfounded they might have been. Do you know I once forbade him to go riding? An old friend of his, Lord Bentford, had been thrown from his horse on a jump, and the poor man hit his head so hard that he died before they managed to bring him back to his house. His riding companion later revealed that the horse had been ill and that Lord Bentford had been advised not to take him out that day. The whole accident could easily have been prevented, yet I was terrified that something similar might happen to your father. Edith was only a few weeks old, and I was quite emotional at the time. Your father obliged me and avoided the saddle for some time, before convincing me there was nothing to cause alarm.

"Times have changed, and I _know_ – no matter what you chose to reveal – that your concerns are of a different nature. If Tom has promised to stay out of danger – and it makes me very happy to hear that he has – then you mustn't worry yourself, but that doesn't change the fact that you will. You're still newly married, you love your husband, you're expecting your first child, and you're consequently highly emotional. Sybil, darling, it's only natural that you _do _worry. However, you must promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"You must tell Tom, or myself, especially while I am here, about whatever it is that is worrying you. We can't have you making yourself ill."

"I promise." A small smile spread across Sybil's features as her thoughts wandered over the Irish Sea. "What would Granny say if she heard you encourage me to speak of my feelings?"

"Probably something about my peculiar, American ways."

Cora gave a mischievous smile, drawing a giggle from her daughter.

"It's probably a good thing she isn't here, then."

* * *

><p>Tom had returned with the tea soon after, and the three had been engaged in conversation ever since. Cora told them about the plans for Matthew and Mary's wedding, how it promised to be the event of the year. Sybil was thrilled for her sister as well as for her cousin and looked forward to attending the wedding, but she could hardly help but wish that her mother had shown as much enthusiasm for her own. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, she jumped in, addressing the one topic no one had dared to evoke.<p>

"How's Papa?"

"He's very well. He sends his love."

Sybil smiled, wishing it were true but suspecting that it was not likely to be. "How is he occupying himself, these days?"

"Well now that Matthew has returned, they've revived the various projects they had undertaken before the war. They're currently working on developing the village hospital."  
>"Oh?"<p>

"Doctor Clarkson came to dinner shortly after the new year. He made a few allusions to how quiet the hospital was after the rush of the war. Cousin Isobel, of course, jumped at the opportunity."

At this, Sybil broke in to an affectionate smirk. "She hasn't changed."

"Not in the slightest. I don't think Doctor Clarkson even knew what was happening. One minute, he made an innocent comment. The next, Isobel had concocted a complete expansion plan. I'm surprised to say she has good ideas, this time. Besides, I'm grateful she has not suggested that we donate Downton to her cause. It was one thing during the war, but now…"

"And does Papa support the project?"

"Yes, he's all for it. I do believe he gets some enjoyment out of knowing your grandmamma and Cousin Isobel will have to _work_ together, again."

At this, Tom burst out laughing, drawing amused looks from both Sybil and Cora. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've heard my share of conversations between the two of them, through the years, and it strikes me as funny."

"I suppose you will have that in common with Lord Grantham."

Sybil felt Tom tense at her mother's comment. She knew and Tom knew that, no matter her father's supposed level of acceptance, he was still so very weary of their marriage. A scenario in which he and Tom might sit together, chuckling after Granny made a snide remark to Cousin Isobel remained, as of yet, unthinkable. Ignoring all social conventions – if she couldn't control them in her own home, then where could she? – Sybil ran her fingers down her husband's arm, successfully drawing a small smile as their eyes met.

Turning back to her mother, she found her watching them with curiosity and not without endearment. "I do wish he could have accompanied me."

Sybil sighed uneasily. "Honestly, Mama. This is probably for the best."

Cora curtly nodded, looking in to her teacup as she visibly considered what to say. Her next words came out softly, "He truly has begun to come around."

"I don't suppose you would be here if he hadn't."

"That isn't quite true."

Sybil widened her eyes, inquiringly.

"Honestly, darling, your father's stance on the matter would hardly have stopped me from seeing my youngest daughter at a time like this."

"Mama…"

"I am so very excited, Sybil. Nothing would have changed that. And I'm truly happy for _both_ of you."

Sybil felt the now familiar sting of unexpected tears. Smiling widely, she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in the hopes that the reaction would subside.

"Are you alright, love?" Tom turned toward her, covering her free hand with his own.

Through teary eyes, Sybil saw her mother's eyes widen at the expression. Surely, Papa had never let such an endearment slip in company. Chuckling, she brushed away the few drops that had escaped on to her cheek. "I'm quite alright." She squeezed Tom's hand before letting it go. "Thank you."

It was Tom's turn to chuckle. "Again with the happy tears?"

"I can't very well help it."

"Oh, my dears!" Sybil looked up at the sound of her mother's shaky voice. She was watching them with glistening eyes. "You remind me so much of your grandparents."

"Of Granny and Grandpapa?"

Cora tittered. "Not at all. The pair of you couldn't be more different than them. No, I meant that you remind me of my parents."

Even Tom's curiosity was piqued, "How so?"

"My parents were always very attentive to one another. They married for love, you see, unlike many, and they were indisputably the happiest couple I knew. I forgot how much so until seeing the two of you tonight."  
>"I never knew…"<p>

"How could you? We hardly encouraged you girls to marry for love. I see now that we might have been in the wrong."

Sybil said nothing to this. She hoped nothing more than the acceptance of her marriage was provoking this change in her mother. As upset as she was with her father, she had known her parents to be happy and hoped that was still the case. Feeling her husband's gaze upon her, Sybil turned to meet his smile. She bashfully took his hand.

Bestowing them with another tender smile, Cora stood. "Well, before it gets any later, I will say goodnight."

Sybil and Tom followed suit, guiding her to the door and helping her with her coat.

"Would you like me to accompany you back to the hotel, your ladyship?"

"_Cora_, please. Thank you, Tom. The hotel has bestowed me with one of their chauffeurs, so I shall manage. I think you'll be of more use to Sybil here, than out in the cold."

At this, Sybil smirked and moved to embrace her mother. "You shall come back in the morning? Around ten o'clock? I'd like to show you the rest of the house and the neighbourhood before luncheon."

"That sounds lovely, darling. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Sybil watched as her mother took Tom's arm and the two of them made it out in to the night. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood in the doorway and shivered against the wintery breeze. She was hardly dressed for the cold, but she didn't want to miss the sight. The streetlights cast a dim glow over the narrow street, and she could barely make out their forms as Tom helped Cora in to car. Moments later, he ran up the path, wrapping her shivering body in his arms. Comfortable in his warm embrace, Sybil leaned back, and the two of them waited as the car as it drove off into the night.


End file.
